


"I Told You So"

by hollowbirds (torturousthings)



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Ryden, Rydon, high school bois, this is just a dumb idea i had while listening to life of the party by atl kjsdfhf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-16 06:23:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14806008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torturousthings/pseuds/hollowbirds
Summary: Ryan? Not a party guy.But the thing is, no one says no to Z.





	"I Told You So"

**Author's Note:**

> this is just a little oneshot which is kinda out of character for me but it's just..,, such a cute idea and was so fun to write? so i hope you enjoy it as well!!

“This dress is fine, right?” Z asked as she smoothed down the skirt on her white dress, which made her look way too angelic for anyone at the party to be safe. She was anything but an angel, but no one ever seemed to realise that, because everyone was in love with Elizabeth Berg. It was fine, though; she deserved it. Z had always been some kind of surreal apparition at the high school they went to, not mingling with people and yet always ending up liked by everyone around her, like she had this aura no one could resist. And Ryan was lucky to call her his best friend. 

 

He nodded as she turned back to the mirror above the sink, seemingly to fix the white headband in her blonde hair. She used to have it a darker colour, but they both knew that blonde suited her much better. 

 

“You look great, Z. I don’t understand why you’re so worked up about this, though.” Ryan sighed and ran a hand over his face, leaning back into the old armchair Z had had in her room for as long as he could remember. “Give me _one_ good reason I should go to this stupid musical theatre kid party.” 

 

“First off, it’s not stupid. Or any of the other words you used to describe it, for that matter,” Z said, having now moved on to mascara, which she was applying with fervour. Ryan wondered briefly how many tubes she went through in a month. “Second, I was invited.” 

 

He lifted an eyebrow. That argument definitely did not file under _Convincing_ , especially considering the fact that she was invited to literally every party. “And?” 

 

“And you’re associated with me. Which means you’re, like, socially bound to go,” she said, still not turning to face Ryan but waving her mascara tube around in the mirror as if that would help support her point. 

 

It didn’t.

 

“That’s such bullshit. I don’t have to go anywhere. Especially not some random ass nerd’s party.”

 

Z finally turned around. “You realise that that’s what people usually call you, right? C’mon, get your ass out of that chair. We need to find you something to wear,” she added, setting her tube down decisively and marching towards Ryan, ready to drag him down the pits of hell that she called a closet.

 

“Wait, wait, wait,” he protested in a weak attempt at getting his arm back as she grabbed his wrist. “Why this one? It’s not like you invite me to any of the other parties, either.” 

 

She stared at him in disbelief. “I don’t go to any of the other parties, you random ass nerd. Now shut up and come with me.” 

 

Ryan couldn’t argue with that. 

 

That didn’t really explain why he followed her into her closet, though, or why she had clothes his size. God, they hadn’t slept together, had they? He felt a shiver run down his spine at the thought. She’d fed him sand when they were kids, for heaven’s sake. 

 

“You wish,” she said maliciously, pulling something black out of the pile of clothes, which turned out to be a brand new leather jacket. She looked at it pensively for a second. “My mom bought it for my brother but the sleeves turned out too narrow. So now I’m passing it down to you.” 

 

Ryan stared at it, then at her. “Thanks for reminding me of you ultra-buff brother, Z.” 

 

She shrugged, handing him the jacket. “Not my fault you have twig genes. Put the damn jacket on, Ross, we don’t have all day.” 

 

⁂

 

Okay, so maybe Z was mostly right. This didn’t feel like a music theatre kid party, not at all. Ryan was sure he’d be able to see red solo cups strewing the floor like in every stereotypical high school party if it wasn’t for all the people crammed into the house, moving lazily to the beat coming from speakers he couldn’t see either. He didn’t really know what he’d expected - a play, maybe? 

 

“Bill!” Z exclaimed, seemingly already attempting to clear a path for herself through the crowd to go talk to someone who definitely wasn’t Ryan. Ryan caught her wrist before she could disappear and leave him completely alone. 

 

“You dragged me here, Elizabeth, you’re not gonna fucking leave me.” 

 

Z looked back at him and pouted exaggeratedly, wriggling her wrist out of his grasp. “Boohoo, _George_. You won’t die, go make some friends! C’est la vie and carpe diem and all that shit!” 

 

“That’s not what it—” he started, but she’d already disappeared behind a couple of tall dudes that Ryan really didn't want to talk to, much less interact with in any way. God, he’d been here less than fifteen minutes and was already alone. Yeah, he’d go home. Shoving a hand into his jacket pocket, he swore. Z had taken his car keys. Of course she had; she knew him way too well to forget his tendency of removing himself from uncomfortable situations, most of the time by driving away as fast as he could. She was good at prevention. 

 

Maybe he could walk home. It couldn’t be too far, right? They all went to the same school. Ryan wasn’t even sure whose house this was. 

 

“Hey!” 

 

Ryan looked to his side, where a brown haired boy had somehow appeared, a cup in hand. He was wearing a brown plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up and his hair was pasted on his ears, like he’d been drenched in some sort of liquid Ryan was better off not identifying. The guy took a sip from his cup, clearly waiting for an answer that Ryan couldn’t be bothered to give. He wasn’t going to make friends, just to prove Z wrong. He wasn’t made for parties. 

 

The lack of answer didn’t seem to bother the other dude, though, who nonchalantly took another sip of his drink. 

 

“You having fun?” 

 

At that, Ryan shrugged. Fun was most certainly a relative term. He’d fixed guitar strings and had had more fun than he was having right now. Was the guy going to leave him alone now that he’d been as unfriendly as possible while staying silent? 

 

“You know, I’d be very inclined to throw you out if you didn’t have such a look on your face that screams ‘I need vodka.’”

 

Ryan frowned indignantly. “I don’t—”

 

Plaid Shirt Dude nodded. “Oh, yes you do. It’s like a giant neon sign above your head,” he said, gesturing above his own head for effect. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.” 

 

That would’ve been the perfect moment to escape, if only whoever was managing the music hadn’t decided to put the Macarena on at that precise moment, creating a many-armed monster only the Macarena could summon. In short, impossible to get through without getting impaled. 

 

And on top of that, the guy was back really, _really_ fast, a second cup in his hands. Maybe he was part Sonic the Hedgehog. 

 

“Here, have this,” he yelled over the sound of the Spanish chorus. Ryan looked down at the contents of the cup as Plaid Shirt Dude handed it over. It was a suspicious dark orange. This wasn’t vodka. 

 

“What is it?” He yelled back. 

 

“What?” 

 

Ryan rolled his eyes before shouting his question again, to which the other boy gave a conspiratorial look and a smirk. God, he was probably trying to poison him. 

 

“Fun in liquid form, just drink it! Or I swear, I’ll kick you out!” 

 

“What are you, the drink police or something?” Ryan said, taking a sip of the drink. It burned his throat a little, but it tasted sweet. He’d had worse drinks, like that time Z and he had chugged a bottle of whiskey they’d found in her dad’s cabinet, just to try. Bad, bad idea. Turned out vomiting in secret wasn’t fun at all. 

 

“Close enough,” the other guy said. “I’m Brendon, and this is definitely my house getting wrecked. With my consent, of course,” he added, smiling slyly at Ryan, eyes bright from the alcohol. Oh, so he was the host. That explained the threats of kicking him out. 

 

“I’m Ryan,” he said, mostly because it was etiquette. “If you’re the nerd hosting this party, then why aren’t you dancing with all of these people?” He asked, gesturing to the crowd that was still flailing around to the rhythm of the 90s classic. 

 

“Oh, that’s just ‘cause I don’t know how to do the Macarena,” Brendon said offhandedly before gulping down the rest of his drink, which was probably just orange juice. There’s no way he'd have swallowed hard liquor just like that. “And I’m not drunk enough to improvise just yet. But why aren’t you dancing?” 

 

Ryan shrugged again, and swore to himself to make it his trademark move if he ever became famous. “I don’t like dancing.” 

 

That seemed to leave Brendon perplexed as the song came to an end. The familiar, strident sound of feedback suddenly filled the room, drowning out all the conversations that’d started up as soon as the music had stopped. It was soon followed by a bad recording of Toxic, which put everyone back in dancing mood. 

 

“Oh, it’s karaoke time,” Brendon said, pointing towards one end of the room where a tall guy was singing into a mic, probably stood on a chair to give him extra dominance over the whole crowd.

 

“I can’t believe Gabe isn’t wearing a air hostess uniform,” Brendon said under his breath, and Ryan couldn’t help but snort at the idea of that gangly guy stuffed into a Britney-Spears-like shirt and skirt. 

 

“He’s good, though,” Ryan pointed out, because he was. He was nailing it, and Ryan had never seen anyone nail Britney Spears songs before. 

 

“Yeah, just wait ’til the actual performers get onstage, it’s gonna be awesome,” Brendon said, arms crossed over his chest, his cup probably abandoned on a table or the floor, somewhere. He knew he was the one who was going to clean it all up, right? 

 

“Performers? Like, hired performers?” So it was a musical theatre nerd party, and a rich musical theatre nerd party at that. There, that’d show Z. He couldn’t wait to tell her “I told you so”; they basically lived to prove each other wrong by this point. 

 

“Nah, they aren’t hired, just friends that agreed to play a couple of songs, but it’s gonna be good. Hey look, I gotta go tend to some… party matters, but you enjoy, alright?” 

 

“Yeah, thanks,” Ryan said. Fine. He was gonna stay, because watching people singing karaoke was fun, and because live music was always something he’d stay around for. “Wait, do you know where I can find more of this?” He yelled at Brendon before the other boy could completely disappear from view, pointing towards his cup. Brendon shouted something that Ryan didn’t hear. Oh well. He’d find more drinks himself, since he was staying. Because it was actually getting fun.

 

And because maybe, just maybe, he’d get to see more of that Macarena-ignorant boy. 

 

 

⁂

 

“Oh thank God, you’re still here,” Z said, appearing from behind a couple and grabbing Ryan’s arm. Her hair was dishevelled and her lipstick had been wiped off, either by a napkin, a drink or someone else’s mouth. “We gotta move, Ryan. Come with me.” 

 

It had been about four or five songs since the karaoke had started, and Ryan found himself by the stage - because, yeah, there was actually a stage - before he had time to ask Z what the hell was going on. 

 

“Gabe, can you get him the guitar that’s in the entrance, pretty please?” Z asked the tall guy, who had opened his hoodie during the Toxic performance to reveal a Britney t-shirt, and who was now sporting a huge red smear on the side of his mouth. He nodded, smiled at Ryan and disappeared towards what Ryan assumed was the entrance.

 

“Z, did you hook up with Britney guy?” He muttered as Z quickly tied her hair into a knot at the back of her head. 

 

“Maybe,” she answered, clearly completely free of guilt. “I can’t resist a good rendition of Toxic, you know this.” 

 

“No, I didn’t,” Ryan said, scratching his eyebrow. “And, completely unrelated, remind me to never sing that song ever again.” 

 

“Here you go,” Gabe said, reappearing with an acoustic guitar in hand, holding it out to Ryan, who looked back at Z in confusion. It had to be some kind of misunderstanding. 

 

“What’s this—” he started, catching sight of two mic stands on the makeshift stage, then staring back at his friend. Oh, shit. This was bad. “Z?” 

 

She grinned at him. “We’re performing! You can’t back out now, I promised we would.” 

 

Oh, hell no. 

 

But it seemed like struggling was pointless because a) it was Z he was up against and b) he found himself onstage anyway, in front of all those people he’d been staying away from all night. He just really hoped Brendon was still occupied by his party matters, whatever they were, because he was about to fuck up big time. His hands were already damp on the guitar neck and he had no idea what they were going to play. Z was on his left, clearly in her element, smiling and waving at the people she knew. 

 

“Hi guys! Before we start our little thing, I just wanna thank Brendon for letting us do this, it’s awesome, man, thank you!” She said into the mic, gesturing to one spot to the right of the stage, dangerously close to where Ryan was standing. Whooping and clapping followed, mostly done by drunk guys, which wasn’t really surprising considering the context.

 

And there he was, Plaid Shirt Guy, with yet another drink in his hand and a startled look on his face, as if Ryan was the last person he’d expected to see onstage tonight. Well, he wasn’t the only one. 

 

“And my buddy Ryan and I are gonna play Cross My Heart by Marianas Trench for you, hope you enjoy!” 

 

Ryan went blank for two seconds before remembering the first chords to the song Z had just mentioned, a song that they had practiced again and again in his bedroom, but that he never thought they’d perform in front of people, let alone a room full of them. 

 

It came naturally after a couple of bars, though, his fingers not betraying him like his brain had, and Ryan even worked up the courage to sing into the mic about halfway through the song, which earned him a smile from Z and a jolt in his stomach. This wasn't so bad after all, even if it was probably the alcohol’s doing.

 

They ended up playing two more songs before scurrying offstage with a thunder of applause - once again, due to the general inebriated state of the crowd, and Ryan felt adrenaline coursing through his veins like it never had before. 

 

“Dude, that was mind-blowing,” a voice said from behind his back after he’d stopped hugging Z and cursing at her all at once. He turned around to see Brendon, his cheeks flushed and his eyes just as bright as they had been before. 

 

“Thanks,” Ryan muttered, feeling his own face burning up. Hopefully it wouldn’t be too apparent in the dimness of the room, but he highly doubted it. “I didn’t know I was the performer.” 

 

Brendon chuckled awkwardly, running a free hand through his damp hair. “Yeah, sorry about that, I didn’t either. Z told me she’d bring a friend, but I never bothered to check who said friend was. That being said, you really were amazing.” His eyes went to the guitar that Ryan had left on the side of the stage. “And that’s— my guitar, right?” 

 

Ryan’s eyes widened. Fuck, it was his guitar? God, he’d never trust Z with anything again. 

 

“Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was yours. Sorry about that.” 

 

Brendon waved his hand dismissively. “It’s no big deal, you’re clearly way better at it than I am anyway, even after having had monstrous amounts of alcohol.” He looked pensive for a second, worrying his lower lip. Ryan caught himself wondering if he did that often, and if that ever worked as a flirting technique. “Y’know what, you can have it.” 

 

“What?” 

 

“The guitar,” Brendon added quickly. “You can have the guitar, if you want. I’ll go get the case,” he finished, shoving his drink into Ryan’s hand and hurrying away before Ryan could say anything. Maybe he was afraid he’d refuse, but all Ryan ended up doing was stand there, a dumb smile on his face. 

 

⁂

 

“So, what are your thoughts on the stupid party?” Z asked smugly, hands on the steering wheel. It was a good thing she didn’t drink, because that made her the official chauffeur, but she definitely made up for it by hooking up with more people than Ryan cared to count. 

 

“I mean, I got a free guitar, so I guess it’s okay,” Ryan answered, refusing to give her the satisfaction of the inevitable “I told you so,” even if he hadn’t been able to wipe the grin off of his face ever since Brendon had come back with the black case and helped him put the guitar in it. 

 

“I hope you know I expect an invitation to the wedding,” she said, glancing over at Ryan. “And that I’ll one hundred percent play those embarrassing videos of you aged 14.” 

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, looking out the window to the quiet, 3am neighbourhood. “And if you show those videos to _anyone_ , I’ll have you crucified.” 

 

“Ah, yes, people definitely give guitars as platonic gifts when they meet someone for the first time,” Z said, rolling her eyes and making a left turn into their street. “I’m sure he left a note in the case. Here, I’m betting five bucks that he did. Consider it matchmaking fee.” 

 

“You’re ridiculous.” 

 

⁂

 

_you better play for me sometime_

 

 

Ryan grinned at the hurried handwriting on the torn piece of notebook, which was followed by a string of numbers and one single letter. 

 

Yeah, Z probably deserved those five bucks. 


End file.
